Frequent Flyer
by teal-slippers1990
Summary: Every month for the last fifteen years, Spencer Reid takes a flight to Las Vegas. No one waits for him there. This is the story of the family that found him on the way. AU. Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid. Rated M for later chapters. 3-shot.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I was going to wait to post this until I had all three chapters finished, but this kind of an apology for not getting _I Had Your Attention All __Along_ updated this weekend. That will happen by Tuesday, I swear. Life happened and I decided to get a Ph.D. As of 9pm today, I was dead set on never going back to school, but what are you gonna do?

So here is the first chapter of Frequent Flyer, the second is completed, but I don't want to post it yet. I'm not sure how you all are going to feel about this story. I've written it in present tense and that's new and awkward for me, so I hope I pulled it off. The tone is distant, you're more like a bystander really. It's...odd. Oh well, I hope some of you enjoy it!

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><p><strong>Year Fifteen: Is This Seat Taken?<strong>

**May—Friday at Noon**

There's something to be said for the normalcy of routine. Of long habit. The comfort it creates.

Once a month, every year, for the last fifteen years, Dr. Spencer Reid boards a plane in D.C. for a flight to Las Vegas, Nevada. It is always on the same day, at the same time. The third Friday of every month. The date is not important, it is the day that matters. He stays for only one night and leaves at 9 o'clock in the morning the next day. The trip is always non-stop. Dr. Reid flies first class, because he can afford it. After all, a 27 year-old high-priced government consultant with three doctorates expects a small amount of luxury.

That's a lie. He flies first class because he had to fly coach the first five years he made this trip. They don't need any extra people in that section. So Dr. Reid flies first class.

He takes the same airline, sits in nearly the same seat. And over time…He's come to see the same faces. The most common are not the travelers of the business world, but those with emotional baggage. The faces aren't always consistent, they come in waves. Most don't accompany him on the return flight, staying longer for conferences, pleasure, or pain. Only a few fly monthly as he does. But he knows many of their names, their stories, why they go where they go when they go. And he knows why they pay the rates of first class: who's paid for by the company, who pays for it because they can afford it, who pays for it to pretend they can. He has his favorites.

These people know him, too. Not in the real sense, but in the only way that matters on a five hour flight. Because they know him, the men and women who join him call him "Doc". It's a bit of a running joke between himself and his preferred companions, a bonding of sorts. Of the things they know, they don't know why he flies this route so frequently, or why he doesn't stay. Those who have inquired have not done so again.

Sometimes there are new faces. Many don't last long, typically only appearing once. But some stay. Last year, a new face joined them. He flies only three times a year (January, May, and September) on the same day as Dr. Reid. He also stays for only one night and leaves the next day at 9. He has not said why. If he boards today, it will be their fifth flight together.

Dr. Reid knows that the gentleman's name is Derek Morgan. He knows Mr. Morgan is an accomplished architect. The second time he accompanied the "frequent flyers", as Dr. Reid refers to them, an old customer travelled happened to be travelling as well. He sang Mr. Morgan's praises.

However, Dr. Reid finds more can be learned from watching and listening to a man himself, rather than his acquaintances. The unusual thing about this particular man is that he provides so many opportunities to learn. What Dr. Reid knows of his other companions, he learned through catching the tail ends of phone calls as they boarded the plane. Behavior in the terminal while waiting for the flight. Rambles when too many glasses of wine were emptied. He himself is called "Doc" because of an official call he received while waiting for a flight. A curious older woman, Mrs. Baggott who flew every other month to see her grandchildren, questioned him about the call after they'd boarded. That was almost seven years ago. Dr. Reid hasn't seen her in four years. He doubts he'll ever see her again. It's a shame.

Mr. Morgan does not require such obtuse methods, though. Where the others tend to travel in silence, he prefers to maintain constant conversation. With anyone, with everyone. He is enigmatic, flirtatious, precocious. And one of the most handsome men Dr. Reid has seen in a very long time.

He is boarding the plane now. Dr. Reid smiles faintly and returns his attention to a reference for the case he is to consult on next week. Mr. Morgan's attendance allows him to derive a pleasure from these trips that he never expected to find. If he thinks about that sentiment for too long, it scares him.

"Hey, kid, this seat taken?" A query from Mr. Morgan.

Strange. Dr. Reid does not recall having seen any children in the seats around him. Maybe one boarded while he wasn't paying attention. But the request sounds so close. He would have noticed a child in his vicinity.

"Kid? Hello?"

Why does Mr. Morgan wish to sit beside a child? He tends to sit beside the women, and there are empty seats available for him to do so.

"Doc." This from the man seated behind Dr. Reid with the tearful voice. Kevin Lynch, who makes this trip twice a year. Their flights only overlap on Mr. Lynch's return trips. He and his wife are divorced, over accusations that he married his work first, so he travels twice a year to see his children. He cries silently the whole flight back, and probably will until the children have grown. They never come to him.

Dr. Reid turns to reply, but stops when his eyes pass over a broad dark form standing in the isle by him.

"What?" Mr. Morgan does not know his nickname yet and is confused. Dr. Reid stares silently, trying to make sure that his tongue won't butcher his first ever words to this man.

"He answers to Doc." David Rossi, flies monthly and stays for three nights to gather inspiration for his books.

"Cool. You're a doctor?" Mr. Morgan remains standing in the isle. He shifts easily to allow passengers still boarding to get by. Dr. Reid continues fighting his traitorous tongue.

"Not a medical doctor. He's got Ph.D.s three times over." Emily Prentiss, flies once a year for a business retreat and stays for the whole week. She drinks the most wine. Mr. Morgan has sat beside her many times. Quite beautiful, and just as single.

"Holy… In what?" The knowledge piques Mr. Morgan's interest and he's about to sit down whether Dr. Reid (who suddenly has no moisture in his mouth) agrees to it or not.

"Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering." Aaron Hotchner, the first and third weekend of every month for the whole weekend to see his wife and son. His family cannot live with him. He has never explained why.

"Oh, is that all?" With a laugh and a shake of his head, Mr. Morgan drops down into the seat by Dr. Reid. So the kid is sexy and smart. A wonderful combination.

"No. He's also got B.A.s in Sociology and Psychology." Jason Gideon, single and childless, three times a year to look for himself. Dr. Reid wonders when he realized this 'self' was lost.

"Jesus Christ. What do you do with all that?" Mr. Morgan looks directly at Dr. Reid, trying to force him to speak. He's never heard the young man's voice.

Dr. Reid gulps a desperate swallow of coffee. Thankfully, today's travelers have flown with him the longest of all. Most for at least the last ten years; they met him as a teen. They are his favorite companions. They know what he would tell of his story well enough to share it. Before Mr. Morgan joined their ranks, no one would have said anything at all. That is the effect he has on people. His charisma pulls out the words they would keep to themselves.

"Doc is a consultant for the government. That's all we get to know." Jennifer Jareau, wife and mother, once a year to visit her sister's grave on the weekend of her death.

Mr. Morgan stares at the young man beside him. "A mute consultant?"

Dr. Reid chokes on his coffee.

"Here you go, Sugar Plum." Penelope Garcia, world's sassiest flight attendant, hands Dr. Reid a napkin. She's the only one who can make Mr. Lynch smile. Probably because of her flare for embarrassing nicknames. But she only uses them on this select group, and Dr. Reid admits to himself that the teasing makes him smile as well.

"I-I'm not," Dr. Reid chokes out, coughing, "a mute."

"There we go! Knew you had a voice somewhere." Mr. Morgan smiles the smile he usually saves for his mother. But only he knows that, so the significance will go unnoticed. It is a pleasant voice, even mangled as the coughing makes it.

The rest of the occupants of the section return to their various distractions. This conversation is meant to be a private one.

"And that's fine," Dr. Reid mumbles passed the napkin.

"What's fine, Doc? Sitting here? That's good, 'cause you don't have much choice in that now." He leans back into his seat and buckles up, the cheerful flight attendant reciting the mantra of safe travels, oxygen masks, and floatation devices.

"No-I mean, yes that too. But it's fine…if you call me 'kid,' Mr. Morgan. I am quite young to be a doctor even once, much less three times over. Or Doc, if you'd rather. Or I guess, Spencer. That's my first name. I'm Spencer Reid. You can call me that, or whatever. Really, whatever you want to call me is fine." Dr. Reid glances up from the book he's gripping tight enough to wrinkle. His inability to silence his ramblings embarrasses him.

"How about Reid, then? You can call me Derek. Or at least just Morgan. The 'Mr.' thing's gotta go," Morgan has to stop himself from winking. If he comes on too strong he may scare the skittish doctor off.

The first time he flew to Vegas last January, he saw Reid sitting in the second seat from back of First Class. All he could think was how pretty the boy was, and as a result he'd smiled a bit to brightly at the other passenger he'd been talking to. He had to let her down easy when it came time to get off the plane. It's an awkward beauty, Morgan can't help but think. The kind that draws the eye. It certainly drew his.

The residual agony of his first night in Vegas, his first night of failure, was cut in half when he saw Reid boarding the plane the next morning. That time, it was a coincidence that they both had a ticket for the nine o'clock flight. He'd wanted to stay the entire weekend, but he hadn't been able take it. Now, Morgan buys that ticket specifically to see this kid.

"Reid is fine too…Morgan." Reid sets down his book, holding in a sigh.

Morgan will expect to talk, that's how he is with everyone. Reid fights the urge to squirm. Casual conversation is not his strong point. The smile that spreads across the older man's face when he places the book on the table makes up for it.

"So what can you share about your job, if so much of it is a secret?" Morgan wants nothing more than to drop the act and flirt shamelessly, but this little genius doesn't seem like the type for one night stands. Their paths only cross three times a year, and he cannot trust that to last. Not good odds. Morgan will settle for friendly acquaintance, and that will have to be enough.

Reid turns slightly in his seat, wanting to at least indulge in this opportunity to watch the attractive man to his heart's content. "The level of confidentiality all depends on the case I'm consulting on. What I can tell you about all of them is that you won't find the role I play in them so interesting as you think. No one does."

"Really? No one in the world?" Morgan gives in to the desire to tease the young doctor just a little.

"Well, no one who's asked." Reid glares, knowing that Morgan took him literally on purpose.

"Tell me anyway. I might change your streak."

When Morgan tilts his head and grins like that, Reid almost believes him. "I'm a statistics consultant. I run variables, likelihoods, comparisons…I sort through what appears to be overwhelming amounts of data and reproduce the vital portions in terms that are more comprehensible."

"Isn't that usually done by paralegals and lawyers?"

"I am one of the resources they use outside of the courtroom. Much like a library. I'm rarely called into the court room. When I am, it's more to be used as a tactic than a resource. I'm not typically needed to make a point, but to keep the opposition from making theirs. My job is to throw them off a pattern of questioning with well-placed numbers and quotations. I fluster them with information they weren't aware existed."

"Ok, I'm gonna need you to explain to me why anyone would find that boring." Morgan stares at the young man before him, eyes blatantly appraising. He controls the heat that flairs when Reid blushes prettily.

"I really couldn't tell you. I myself find it fascinating and mentally stimulating. And my work gives me access to so many libraries I would never have dreamed of entering otherwise…" He trails off, lovingly fingering the spine of his book. "But what about you? I must confess, I'm not very familiar with the world of architecture."

The two men pass the next five hours immersed in their exchange, unaware of the attention they've drawn from their companions. Reid does not open up to other passengers much. Even so little as they offer of themselves, he offers less. They know that what he has given Morgan today is more than just a few hours of conversation.

A nod at the gate. They would see one another in the morning. Both would be hurting, that's why they're here.

**May—Saturday at Nine**

"Hey, kid, this seat taken?" Reid opens tired eyes and finds a haggard looking Morgan standing over him. There are no regulars on this flight, only two other men in the section. Morgan could sit anywhere he wanted.

"No." Reid is glad he wants to sit here. For once…he wouldn't mind the company.

Like everyone else, Morgan has no idea why Reid stays for only one night. What he does know is that when he boards the plane the next day, Reid always appears to share his physical and emotional exhaustion. To be able to sit beside him and share the burden…It almost makes it better. Almost makes up for the fact that he failed again. He always does.

Morgan and Reid recline in their seats when the warning light clicks off. There will be no talking this time. Morgan's legs relax and fall open, his knee bumping Reid's.

Reid subtly shifts his out of the way, then closes his eyes and follows Morgan into sleep.

They wake when the flight attendant, Ashley Seaver (quiet, not one Reid sees often) comes by with instructions to return to upright positions for landing.

Waking up next to Morgan, Reid nearly smiles. But he cannot allow himself this happiness so soon after. This needs to hurt. That's why he makes these trips.

The two travelers part ways silently, each hoping to see the other in four months time.

**September—Friday at Noon**

Reid fidgets in his seat. A book lays forgotten in his lap. Morgan is late, if he's going to show up at all.

He plays with the buttons that adjust the back of his chair. Morgan has never been late before.

He presses the button again and sits himself up ramrod straight. Late is a relative term. The flight leaves at noon, with all the punctuality of a typical aircraft. So it's usually closer to 12:30. Morgan has never boarded the plane later than 11:45 am, and he only cuts it that close because he's still in the waiting area flirting with the receptionist. It is now 11:50. Morgan had yet to make an appearance in the waiting room when they made the first call to board.

Reid sighs and fixes his seat. He stares out the window, ridiculing himself silently. For one thing, he's not going to see Morgan running up to the plane through the window. This is not a bad 1960s film.

"Doc, if you don't give it a rest, I'm going to take that damned pen away from you!" Mr. Rossi groans, smacking the back of Reid's seat with his file folder.

"Pen?" Reid looks down at his hand. He's clutching a pen and, if the marks on his pants are anything to go by, has been clicking it incessantly. "Oh. Sorry, Mr. Rossi…" Reid ducks his head sheepishly and sets the pen down.

Reid's antics have drawn the attention of his regular companions. Mr. Hotchner raises an eyebrow, looking up from his work. Mr. Gideon chuckles quietly. It takes quite a bit of distraction to get Doc to set down his books. Enough to be worth note. There are a few others scattered about, some are new, some he's seen before. None that he's seen often enough to know their stories, or to even care to try to learn them.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me 'Mr.'? You listened to Morgan the first time and I've been trying for years!" Rossi is completely exasperated now.

Penelope sets a lidded cup of coffee on Reid's tray. It's against the rules, but she always sneaks him one because they all know he'll finish it before the plane starts down the runway. "He'll be here, Kitten. He's just a little late this time." Penelope smiles soothingly.

Beyond simply noticing his unusual behavior, it seems everyone in attendance knows the cause of it too. Not surprising, they know his behavior patterns by now. It is not a secret that Reid watches Morgan out of the corner of his eye from the time the man boards the plane until they all go their separate ways.

"'Scuse me! Sorry I'm late, Momma." Morgan winks at Penelope as he slips by her, slightly out of breath.

"No worries, hot stuff, we knew you'd make it. Even saved you a seat," Penelope says with a smirk and a nod towards the seat beside Reid.

Reid bites his tongue. He wants to object, on mere principle, but…he wants Morgan beside him more. This man, he makes it all just a little better, just a bit more present and less past. A part of Reid screams that he should be fighting this. He fought off all the others who pushed the past away, but he's so tired now. Sixteen years. Over half of his life. His therapist, Ethan, said he should forgive himself, forgive all of it really. Mostly himself. Reid isn't sure just how to do that yet. Morgan seems like he knows how. Maybe someday, when Reid finally has the courage, Morgan can teach him how.

Penelope has already given him the go ahead, but Morgan asks anyway, because he needs to hear Reid say it. "Hey, kid, this seat taken?"

Reid looks up and holds Morgan's stare for too long. "No," he answers.

Morgan sits down beside him. This time they talk about the author of the untouched book in Reid's lap.

Gideon, Rossi, and Hotchner eavesdrop shamelessly. Reid is smiling. A real smile. A smile they have never seen, and one they hope to see again. The doctor is too young to be so serious.

Morgan grits his teeth, silently instructing himself over and over again that he cannot chase Reid away. Yes, the sex would most likely be amazing, but Morgan does not want to run the risk of hearing Reid tell him that this seat is taken. Reid had shied from even the accidental contact of their knees. He would certainly flee from more.

So Morgan pretends he doesn't want more than this.

**September—Saturday at Nine**

Ethan says it was an accident. It was more than that. Reid should have been there. He was supposed to be there. But he didn't come home.

Reid was 12 years old. He and several "friends" were celebrating their recent graduation. The game of the night was "Get The 12 Year-old Smashed."

Reid woke up the next morning with eighteen missed calls on his cell and the worst hangover of his life. The only hangover of his life. He never drank again, and probably never would.

"Hey, kid, is this seat taken?" Morgan's voice is hoarse with exhaustion.

Reid snaps out of his reverie. "No," he mumbles. He feels heat rising to his face and water to his eyes. He can't remember the last time a trip home made him cry. Not home. This hasn't been home since that night.

Morgan sees the tears flooding Reid's eyes and sits as close as he can. He forgets the promises he made to himself not to crowd the young man, not to scare him away. Morgan wants to be the shoulder Reid cries on and he is.

The doctor cries himself to sleep on Morgan's shoulder, clutching the strong hand. The weight of a head resting atop his own relaxes him. His mother was the last person to touch him when he cried.

Gideon and Hotchner monitor the situation carefully. Penelope stands ready with tissues. Rossi quietly assures them that Morgan has this handled. Their boy is safe in his hands.

Reid and Morgan wait at the baggage claim. There is no reason for it. Both men only bring carry-ons for the overnight stay. But they are reluctant to part, so they watch the belt and comment on oddly colored bags.

"Hey…do you maybe want some coffee?" Reid finally asks, plucking at his sweater vest.

"Yeah, yeah that'd be cool." Morgan's shoulders sag in relief.

They spend two silent hours in the airport coffee shop, knees touching beneath the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: The next chapter of I Had Your Attention All Along is also done, I swear! It will be posted in half an hour. Now that I've dodged that bullet... I am so glad I acted on the desire to work with this plot line. I wasn't sure how it would be received and I got a lot of positive response. A worth-while trip out of my comfort zone if there ever was one. Hopefully, I kept the good points you guys found in the first chapter for this one too.

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><p><strong>Year Sixteen: Family Is Everything<strong>

**January—Friday at Noon**

A case has come up. The lawyers Reid works with tried everything they could think of, but the date of trial could not be changed. This has never happened in all the years Reid has consulted for them. They have always been painstakingly careful to keep that third Friday free. But they need Reid on the stand today. So that is where Reid is when Morgan boards the plane to Las Vegas.

Morgan does not know that. Nor do Hotchner, Rossi, or Gideon. Penelope's cheer is forced. They inquire about Reid's emotional state after the flight in September. Morgan can only say that his color had returned after the coffee date. But Reid is not on the flight roster. So at the very least, they know he is not here intentionally. The consolation they receive from this knowledge is minimal. Reid does not skip flights.

Morgan paces the streets of the city. He was going crazy cooped up in his hotel room. He's certain that the kid's absence today was not because of their "date." But that hardly makes him any less worried. Reid's tears are fresh in Morgan's memory.

Reid huddles in his bed, terrified of the nightmares that he'll face tonight. They'd won the case, and that helps, but it doesn't make up for the missed anniversary. His emotional stability paid dearly for the flight he skipped when he was fourteen. That was when his doctor first proscribed the antidepressants. On his 21st birthday, as a present to himself, Reid started weaning himself off of them.

Reid is scared he'll have the same debt to pay in the morning. He does not want the drugs again, not after five years without them. He longs for a warm body to turn to. He misses Morgan.

**January—Saturday at Nine**

The sun is rising when Morgan finally makes it back to his hotel. He ended up walking all night.

His feet are heavy as he boards flight home. Partially because he knows Reid will not be in the window seat, second row from the back. But mostly because his night of wandering has left him more physically drained than he's been since his first attempt to-Morgan stops dead in the aisle. He'd forgotten last night. His concern for the kid overwhelmed everything else. For the first time in four years, Morgan had left his hotel room and walked the streets of Vegas. And he is still the man he was when he arrived on Friday.

Despite the lonely ache caused by the empty seat beside him, Morgan smiles the whole five hours. His face hurts. He wants to tell Reid, wants to hear the kid say he's proud. Morgan cannot lie to himself anymore. He needs to find a way to make Reid a part of his life. A permanent part.

Reid opens his eyes and waits. And waits. But there is nothing. No soul-crushing guilt. No waves of nausea. No earth-shattering pain in his chest. He can breathe evenly. He lifts one hand and begins to laugh when it does not shake. Reid puts both feet on the floor and stands. He cries when his knees do not give out beneath him.

Is this what his therapist meant when he'd told Reid that he would find freedom when he forgave himself? Would this freedom have been his all along, if only he'd had the courage not to board the plane?

Reid does not think so. Even though he'd never gotten around to asking, Reid thinks Morgan may have already started to teach what he knows of forgiveness. And now Reid misses him even more. He begins counting down days until the third Friday of May.

**May—Friday at Noon**

Reid walks as quickly as he can without running. Security has already detained him once. Apparently, running in an airport these days is cause for concern. Hotch (he insists, really), Gideon, Rossi, and Penelope warned him after the missed flight in January that Morgan was going to give him a stern talking to come May. Reid felt a thrill of warmth that his absence had made such a strong impact in the man's life.

Since he could not share his emotional victory with Morgan immediately, he'd settled for telling his therapist. Ethan had been overjoyed. After sixteen years of seeing the same heartbroken patient every two weeks, he should be. He explained that it shouldn't surprise Reid at all that his fellow travelers noticed his absence and were concerned. In a sense, they'd become something of a distant family. Ethan encouraged him to share his progress, in fact, his whole story with Morgan and the others. Not all at once, but slowly. If these bonds had such a positive effect on Reid, he stressed the importance of nurturing them, strengthening them.

Reid has not figured out how to do that yet, but he's certain Morgan will be receptive at least.

He is shocked to find all his May companions in the waiting area already.

"Here." Morgan thrusts a small booklet at Reid, glaring as if daring him to refuse.

He takes it and stares at the small gathering questioningly.

"It's a contact book. All of our phone numbers are listed first," JJ (she also insists) explains.

"And email addresses," Lynch adds.

"If you're going to miss another flight, notify at least one of us." Hotch's tone makes it clear this is an order.

"Preferably everyone who typically flies that month," Gideon specifies. "One of us may not be able to make it."

Reid cannot find his voice.

"Here's where you give us some way to contact you, Doc," Prentiss says in an exaggerated stage whisper.

Reid blushes and tugs out a wrinkled, but clean, napkin from his bag and scribbles the information down several times. He rips it into sections and presses shreds into waiting hands.

They all sit together until the call to board is made. Morgan's thigh is warm and comforting against Reid's.

Their linked hands during the flight make Penelope's nicknames take on a lewd quality. Reid thinks his therapist may be right about these people being his family. Reid didn't realize how much he'd missed having one.

As Morgan runs his fingers over the pale skin in his hand, he thinks the same thing. The list of people he's lost because of his own weakness is too long. If Morgan has any say in it, Reid is not going to make that list. But before Morgan can focus on him, there are a few other names that need to be crossed off.

Reid stares at the curve of the deserted road and allows a small smile when his lunch doesn't rise up his esophagus. Just the seeing the place where it happened… He's thrown up behind the stump of the old oak he's sitting on every month because of this curve. But he cannot get ahead of himself. He still has a nine miles of ground to cover. He may lose it yet.

Morgan stares at the dark gates in front of him. He can't go in, but…it's been two hours and he's still conscious. Still sane. No panic. This progress is more than he could have ever dreamed.

The third hour challenges him. His palms begin to sweat and spots flash in his peripheral vision. No! He's gotten so far. His chest heaves rapidly.

He can't break now. Morgan turns tail and runs as fast as he can back to his hotel.

He sags against the wall as he staggers through the door to his room. He'd forgotten how far it was back to his hotel. Morgan hasn't run like that since training. Don't think about that! He needs something to pull him through the night. He does not know what Reid does, and part of him is scared to find out. So he makes the call he's been putting off for a little less than twenty years. It's 9pm in Vegas, 11pm in Chicago. Morgan's mother will still be up. He presses 3 on his phone. He'd never had the heart to take his childhood home off speed dial. He can only hope that she still lives there.

The phone rings twice and a woman answers. The voice on the other end takes him back to days of running through the streets, her shouting to be careful, watch where he's going. A little girl who runs beside him. Don't think of her! Her praise when he graduated high school. Her stern lectures that safe sex was still important even if he preferred men. Her tears of joy when he got into college. His best friend who was accepted the same day. Don't think of her! The warmth of her embrace when he graduated at 22 with a degree in psychology, specializing in criminology, and a fiancé he loved more than anything else. Madison. She'd seen him through everything, never been jealous that his closest friend since childhood was female. Don't think of her! He'd barely managed a year in his career before it all fell apart.

Morgan hadn't called his mother since. Her or his sisters. At first because the pain was overwhelming. Eventually, even Madison left. After that, pain compounded with shame. He swore he'd wait until he cleaned up his act. She deserved a better son and if she could help him through this night, she'd be one step closer to having that man back.

"Hey, Ma." Morgan's voice cracks. He barely pulls the phone away in time to save his eardrum from Fran's shrill scream. The sobs that follow, he welcomes. He has missed her so much. Her words are mangled with tears and he hushes her softly. "Ma, please, I'll explain. I've got so much to tell you…But I want to start by telling you, I met somebody…No, no. We're not anything but good friends, yet. At least, I hope we're good friends…Sorry, that's confusing. I'll start at the beginning. His name is Spencer Reid, and I met him on a plane to Vegas…"

Morgan stays up the rest of the night, laying out every single painful detail of the last nineteen years. He cries and she cries. When he tells her of his new career in architecture, Fran claps in delight and makes him promise to send pictures of the final products. He promises and says goodbye, swearing that he will call within the month. That when he's ready, he'll call his sisters, too. Morgan sways with giddiness as he showers and changes, preparing for the flight home.

**May—Saturday at Nine**

Reid can barely contain himself as he waits for Morgan to board. He's so tired, but so happy. He'd walked his path three times last night, just to see if he could. If it was real. Normally, Reid has to stop to vomit twice on the way to the hospital and once at the cemetery gates. He has never made it inside. By the end of it all he is mentally, emotionally, and physically destroyed. His therapist hates that he does this to himself every month, but Reid is convinced he deserves this.

Last night, after his third loop from the curb to the hospital to the cemetery, Reid stepped inside the gates. When he passed through, he stopped and waited for the suffocating agony to hit him, waited for the inevitable nausea. There was nothing. Once he'd found her, he sat until the sun rose, speaking to his mother about the man he'd met who was slowly teaching him how to forgive himself. About his new family, all of whom she would love very much, he was sure, if she'd ever met them. Reid is not a religious man, but he cannot fault the psychology of the practice of speaking to the dead.

Morgan sees the dark circles under Reid's eyes and knows his long night was shared.

"Hey, kid, this seat taken?"

"No."

Their hands slide together naturally. Reid's head fits perfectly under Morgan's as he sleeps on the older man's shoulder. This time he falls asleep with a smile.

Morgan walks Reid to his car. He cannot stop himself from tapping on the glass of the window.

"Yeah?"

"Um…Call me? Let me know you got home safe?" Morgan cannot meet Reid's eyes when he asks, so he focuses on the strange mustache ornament on the car parked two spaces down.

Reid's heart pounds loudly in his ears. "Y-yeah. Absolutely."

"Ok. So, bye, then."

"Bye."

Morgan follows the car with his gaze until it's out of sight.

**September—Friday at Noon**

Reid runs nervous hands through the locks he's grown out. Morgan made an off-hand comment that he liked long hair. They'd been on the phone together every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday night since May. Reid has told his mother about all their conversations when he visits, has told Morgan of his mother's death. Not how it happened, he's not ready yet, but that it did. Ethan is very pleased. He would like to meet Morgan, if that's at all possible. Reid will ask someday. Soon, maybe.

Morgan straightens his shirt before turning the corner into the actual plane. Penelope sees him and giggles. He glares and shushes her. He cannot be faulted for wanting to look good. He doesn't have many opportunities to impress Reid.

Reid looks suitably impressed when he catches sight of Morgan. Or at the very least, pleased to see him.

"Hey, kid, this seat taken?" The long hair looks good on him. Morgan wants to touch it.

"No."

Morgan puts his carry-on in the compartment and sits down. This may be his best chance and he's about to lose his nerve.

"So…I have a favor to ask." Morgan intertwines his fingers with Reid's.

"Hm?" Reid listens attentively. He wants to help if he can.

"I'm not very fond of the hotel I've been staying at, and…I was wondering if you could recommend one?"

There is an explosion of laughter from the seats ahead of them. Rossi, Gideon and Hotch have made a point of sitting together, whether there is room to spread out or not. They sit in the row directly in front of Morgan and Reid so they can report all progress of the relationship to JJ and Prentiss.

"Shut up!" Morgan snaps at the three men.

Two women and another man have joined them today. They don't appear to appreciate the outburst. Morgan doesn't care about them.

"Sure, there are several excellent establishments right in the center of the city. They're a bit on the expensive side, but I can also suggest a few on the fringes that are more reasonably priced." Reid misses the hint completely.

Rossi gasps for air and Gideon pounds him on the back. Hotch grins broadly. Morgan looks like he wants to strangle them. Penelope, summoned by the ruckus, pats Reid on the shoulder.

"Baby doll, I think our hunk of man meat here was asking about one establishment in particular. Maybe one relatively close to _yours._"

"But mine's not in a very convenient location," Reid explains, looking towards Morgan who's rubbing his temples. Reid's not sure he's ready for Morgan to know that much, either.

"I don't think he cares much about what's around it, so much as who's in it," Hotch comments, clearing his throat.

"Oh." Reid's eyes widen and his face turns red."Oh!" His head drops and he mumbles, "Yeah, mine's good." Well, on the other hand…

Morgan's insides quake with terror. They're so close to that place. Why is Reid's hotel so close to that place. A ten minute drive at most. It's too close. Morgan wants to drown.

Reid's knees shake with anticipation as they take the elevator eight floors up. His lovers are few and far between, more convenience and release than anything else. Morgan is more than that. Means more than that.

Morgan backs him through the door with hands on Reid's hips, lips lock and tongues twined. He wants to take things slow and steady and be gentle, but the kid is making it hard. And Morgan has found something to drown in. Someone to drown in. Reid's moaning already and using those beautiful, long, delicate hands to rid Morgan of his shirt. Before Morgan can close the gap between their lips again, Reid's shirt is gone as well. So pretty. Such a pretty boy. Think only about him.

Reid knew it before, but now he has the visual evidence. Morgan is gorgeous. His skin tone is rich and glossy, soft, and wrapped around corded muscle. A wave of desire pours through his body. Guilt rises in its wake. He's here for a purpose and this isn't it. For all the progress he's made, Reid has never missed the walk from the site of the accident to the hospital and on to the cemetery gates. They're moving too slowly. Reid needs Morgan inside of him _now_.

They are moving too quickly. Morgan can't slow himself down and he really doesn't want to. Reid sucks on his tongue deliciously and Morgan groans. He's undoing his own belt before his mind catches up with his hands. Reid's pants were lost sometime not long after his shirt. Morgan backs them up until he can push Reid flat on the bed.

Reid uses the space and spare seconds to remove his boxers, sliding up the bed. The gleam in Morgan's eye brings both his desire and guilt to a boil.

Morgan's eyes narrow. The doctor can't be thinking of backing out now. It's far too late for that. He catches Reid's ankle and yanks him back. If he backs out, Morgan will have time to breathe and the air will be real and the place will be real and it can't be.

Reid yelps and silently pleads for Morgan to move faster. Morgan kisses his way up Reid's legs, skirting around his swelling arousal. Too slow, too much like making love. Reid has not earned that yet. If Morgan takes him gently now, he's certain this night will end in tears.

Morgan gasps when Reid's teeth find his neck, urging him faster. He suspects a bruise will be present tomorrow, even on his dark skin. Their bodies are tangled and trapped, hands gliding, fingers stroking. Morgan reaches for the condoms and lubricant in his bag.

Reid whimpers faintly when Morgan slides a single finger inside him. Two and he's panting. Three, moaning. He curls his fingers and watches Reid arch off the bed, groaning, his cock twitching. Prostate. God, he wants this man. Morgan inserts a fourth as personal pay back for the bite. The resulting mewls go straight to his groin, an added bonus. Now that he's found Reid's prostate, he's avoiding it. He doesn't want the kid to cum too soon.

"Morgan, please! Please, just fuck me already!" Reid groans, rocking his hips in time with Morgan's fingers. That is what he wants. Not a safe harbor to run to, but a mate to run with. A hand to hold as he flees.

Morgan smirks and withdraws his fingers, flipping Reid onto his stomach. "Hands and knees, Pretty Boy. I was gonna take more time preparing you, so if this hurts, it's not my fault." A lie. He wasn't going to take more time. He'd been opening the condom with his teeth before the kid even asked. Morgan rolls the condom down his shaft, aligning his cock with Reid's entrance. He's confident Reid can handle this, even if there's some discomfort at first.

The new nickname catches Reid's attention more than the warning. "Pretty B-Ungh!" Reid's arms give out. In the foreplay, he noticed Morgan was well-endowed, but it hadn't registered properly. But this hurts. It's too full, it's too much. Reid wonders if it's just the physical size. He doubts it. And he wants it. His body burns with the need to accommodate the man inside him. To stretch to fit him all. The guilt recedes to nothingness, his need burning it out. "Move, move, move." Reid clenches around Morgan, ignoring the flare of pain, begging with his body as much as his words.

Morgan hisses at the sensation and slams his hips forward. With that one motion he is lost. Reid is lost. They are drowning now, but they drown together. This coupling, their first time, it is not about love. For all Morgan's good intentions to go slow and be kind, they fuck like mindless animals. It is not about comfort. It is not about pleasure. They fuck to mate, not just their bodies, but their souls as well. To seal the bond between them as they run from the pasts that chase them.

They do not touch or caress as lovers do. They do not seek to heighten what pleasure there is to be found. Pleasure would end this mating too quickly. So between the two of them, the men use every trick they know to stave completion off. They change positions, many physically uncomfortable. Move about the room, standing at awkward angles. They do not kiss. They pull balls and pinch heads. They fight the end to near delirium and then some. And when they can fight no more, Morgan and Reid collapse on the bed and let their orgasms take them sweeping over the edge they've been walking alone for far too long. In the morning, when they open their eyes and find themselves at rock bottom, they will not be alone.


End file.
